Morning After
by MellodramaticLawliet
Summary: John wakes up after a night he can't remember with a mysterious figure in his bed... fluffy johnlock oneshot set before Mary enters the picture


**A/N**

 **Adding yet another fandom into my jumbled fic list. Short johnlock drabble, probably more to come now that Series Four is three days away...**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters.**

John woke up enveloped in warmth. His groggy mind made a feeble attempt to recall the events from the previous night, though the only substantial result to this was a pounding headache, which he attributed to alcohol abuse.

Groaning, he raised one hand up to rub at his eye, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess in his mind. The last clear memory he had was of entering a bar with Sherlock, who had been convinced the killer had an addiction to tequila, of all things.

Judging by the pounding in his cranium, the killer wasn't the only one with an alcohol problem.

John felt the bed next to him, while doing his best not to open his eyes to the blinding light filtering in from the window. It certainly felt like his bed back at Baker Street. To his relief he registered the familiar scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow beneath him.

At least he knew where he was. He doubted he would be so lucky if he had been drugged by some criminal. At least there was that to assure him.

The only problem was, as his addled brain slowly began to register, he wasn't alone.

A slight ruffle alerted John to the other presence in his bed, as the other person shifted in their sleep. Slowly, not daring to open his eyes, John turned around. He cracked one eyelid only to find that the person's back was turned to him, though there was no mistaking that unruly head of hair.

 _Sherlock._ His mind supplied, _you're in bed with Sherlock._

His breath caught in his throat as Sherlock shifted infinitesimally in his sleep as though in response to his thoughts. Now he really wished he could remember the night before.

The only thing he could force out of his inebriated, sleep fogged memory was of the two of them entering the bar. After that it was only mist and shadows.

An alarming thought occurred to him then. Had they - ?

His eyes shot to Sherlock who, incidentally, happened to be shirtless. Shirtless and in his bed. John checked briefly under the covers to make sure he himself was fully clothed. He was.

John wasn't sure to be relieved or disappointed that he hadn't slept with Sherlock. Surely he would have remembered _that._

After another few minutes of silent philosophizing, John made up his mind to leave before Sherlock woke up. Avoid the problem by never creating it. Perhaps they had stumbled in late, and perhaps he had fallen asleep on the couch, and Sherlock in his bed, drunkenly mistaking it for his own. Easy thing to do, especially if John himself wasn't in it.

Just as he began to lift the edge of the covers, Sherlock sighed and turned over, rubbing at his eyes as he did so.

John held his breath as he watched Sherlock's expression screw up in exaggerated confusion as he deduced he was in the wrong room. And slowly, those fantastic eyes opened.

John shut his own in time to miss the way Sherlock's eyes lit up first in confusion, and then in astonishment as he realized he was in bed with John.

"J-" Sherlock faltered, his eyes darting between the tilted lampshade, his own hastily discarded shirt in a heap on the bedside table, and the door which was slightly ajar. John never slept with the door open if he could help it.

Remembering his deduction from the previous night, and their trip to the bar downtown, Sherlock assumed the rest of the night was a result of alcohol and/or substance abuse; though the latter was highly unlikely considering John seemed to be sleeping soundly, and both of his own eyes remained unbruised.

His eyes drifted back to John's sleeping face. He felt guilty staring, but it was hardly his fault that John was there, or so he assumed.

Slowly, and as if of its own accord, his hand reached out cautiously to run one finger along John's jawline. Sherlock cursed himself inwardly as John's eyes sprang open at the contact. Leave it to him to ruin the moment.

"John, I…" Sherlock faltered. He what? He was sorry? He wasn't. He didn't know exactly what happened, but whatever did, he really wasn't sorry at all.

They stared at one another for a long, slightly tense moment; each daring the other to break the silence first. Finally John cleared his throat, "I – I'm not sure exactly what happened last night."

"Neither am I to be completely honest." Sherlock admitted, frowning when John chuckled softly, "What?"

"No, sorry." John leaned the side of his face deeper into the pillow, smiling up at him with one eye, "It's just you being completely honest."

Sherlock couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of his chest, and he realized with a start that John was still smiling at him. "What?"

"What yourself." John sighed then, his expression sobering, "What on earth happened last night?"

"I wish I could recall." Sherlock muttered, half bitterly. If something had happened between himself and John, he would give anything to remember it.

"Oh." John's eyes widened, "Did I do that?"

His hand reached over to trace the deep bruises covering Sherlock's neck and chest. Sherlock shivered at his touch, trying and failing not to allow his mind to explore the possibility of John having given him a hickey.

"Sherlock." Sherlock was having difficulty meeting John's eyes, opting instead to study the pattern of the askew lampshade, "Sherlock."

Slowly, reluctantly, Sherlock bent his gaze to meet John's. What he found was highly perplexing. Instead of seeming disgusted or angry, John's expression seemed vaguely… hopeful?

"Sherlock, did I do this?" His fingertips traced the length of Sherlock's neck almost deliberately, his eyes locked onto Sherlock's.

"I…" Sherlock found it difficult to form a coherent sentence, between the pain in his head and John's hand on his neck, "I certainly hope so."

John blinked in surprise, and Sherlock's heart pounded in tandem with his head, fearing the worst in John's reaction. To his own surprise, John's face broke into a wide grin, "I do too."

Sherlock's relief was palpable, and he quickly reached out to pull John toward him. To Sherlock's surprise, instead of resisting, John allowed Sherlock to wrap his arms around him and pull him into his chest. With a sigh, he rested his head against Sherlock's collarbone, one hand snaking around his waist as he did so.

"John, I – "

"Shut up Sherlock, you'll ruin the moment."

Sherlock smiled wryly and rested his chin on top of John's head, marveling in the way John's chest moved against his own. He could feel john's heartbeat through his jumper.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock leaned down in time to catch the glint in John's eyes before their lips met. John's lips were chapped, he noted, but still managed to seem soft beneath his own.

After a few moments, john pulled away and began moving down Sherlock's jawline, planting kisses along the way.

"John, as much as I'm enjoying this…" He trailed off as John found a particularly sensitive spot just where his neck and shoulder met, "We still have a serial killer to catch, Graham-"

"Greg."

" _Lestrade,_ is expecting us at Scotland in a few hours."

John paused for a moment and leaned back to meet Sherlock's eyes, "Do you want me to stop?"

Sherlock, already missing John's mouth on his neck, bit his lip, "Not… particularly."

John smirked and pecked his lips, "Then do us both a favor and shut up."

Sherlock happily complied, and allowed Scotland Yard to be driven from his mind. Not that that was difficult. In times of need, Sherlock had always run to drugs and puzzles for solace, though this was an entirely new kind of high for him. One he was sure he would never be able to get enough of.

Three hours later, when they had finally managed to drag themselves out of bed they walked into the kitchen to the sound of the doorbell being incessantly rung.

"Where is Mrs. Hudson when you need her?" Sherlock grumbled, stopping to kiss John on the cheek before bounding down the stairs, taking three at a time. He opened the door to a disgruntled looking Lestrade.

"Well it's about time, I've only left about thirty messages on your mobile." Sherlock rolled his eyes and shut the door behind the inspector, who continued indignantly, "I had almost begun to believe you'd been kidnapped…" He trailed off and his eyes widened as he caught sight of Sherlock's neck, "What the devil?"

"John and I were working the case, things took an… unexpected turn." With that, Sherlock bounded back up the stairs, leaving the perplexed inspector to catch up.

"Wait, Sherlock, what do you mean by "unexpected?""

They entered the kitchen where John was just adding the bags to the tea, "Greg?"

"Yes, thank you." Lestrade accepted the cup as Sherlock flopped unceremoniously onto the couch.

John rolled his eyes and set Sherlock's mug down on the table, motioning for him to move over. Sherlock sat up and shifted over so that John could sit with their legs touching.

"Sorry, inspector, what were you two arguing about when you came in?"

"Oh sorry, I was just admiring the bruises all over Sherlock. It looks like he got himself into a fight with an angry gorilla, not that that would surprise me." Lestrade took a sip of his tea.

"Oh," John smiled wryly and Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "that was me."

"My god, really?" Lestrade set his tea down, "What'd he do this time?"

"Got me drunk apparently."

"Oh," Lestrade's eyes widened in understanding, "Oh! So you two…"

Sherlock groaned and wrapped his arms around John, burying his head in his neck as he did so, "John, make the idiot inspector go away. It's too early for this much stupidity."

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon!"

John rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, "Sherlock, we _are_ supposed to be solving a case for him at the moment."

"You didn't seem so motivated about the case this morning."

Lestrade choked on his tea and John turned a delightful shade of pink, "Maybe it is time for the inspector to leave."

"Right, that's my cue. Thanks for the tea." Lestrade stood up to leave, "I'll text you about the case later. Oh, and…" He seemed to be struggling to find the correct words, "I just want you two to know that I'm, I mean, we're _all_ fine with you two –"

" _Goodbye Graham_." Sherlock threw a pillow at the inspector, who simply smiled and left the room with a small wave.

"Thank god that's over." Sherlock grumbled, snuggling closer to John, who set down his tea and turned so that he could lay back and pull Sherlock on top of him.

"You really need to start being nicer to Greg." John wound his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

"Who's Greg?"

John simply sighed and closed his eyes.

 **A/N**

 **I'm not sure what it is with me and "morning after" fics, but for some reason I have like three of them...**

 **If you would like to see me write more Johnlock, I would love it if you would let me know in the reviews, suggestions are always welcome!**

 **Good Memories and Nightmares**

 **\- MDL**


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